Gimblett Gravels

On the Shelf:	Behind the Counter:
₵$49 Ghost Tobacco (20)	₵$60 Sex Doll Goon Sack
₵$20 Bloody Mary	₵$138 Bux. Semp. X Cannabis
₵$50 El Dorado Green (1/4)	₵$59 Bottled Emotions (qt.)
₵$2 Black Meat (g)	₵$40 Self-Cooking Olive Oil (375 ml)
₵$1 Slut Root (kg)	₵$245 Brick of Cocaine
₵$30 Marital Aid Potion	₵$99 Memory Coffee
₵$50 Quetzalcoatl Feathers (doz.)	₵$40 Christian Repellent
₵$5 Blue Roses (doz.)	₵$80 Anti-Flimflammatory
₵$32 Mythril (oz.)	₵$9 Extrasolar Teas Box
₵$4 BZTCN	₵$16 Rare Minerals (g)

This Week's Special:

In yonder seas lies Zealand anew. A land of clouds, of the cuckoo variety. Where inner-suburban townhouses are built on winding rural roads. Where Saperavi waited two hours for a Double Up from Mighty Campervans New Zealand (13 Manu Tapu Drive).

It had been booked weeks prior for pick-up on Tuesday between 08:00 and 16:00. Apparently the campervan needed to be cleaned, then detailed. A group of staff, numbering between three and a dozen, milled around the front counter. Seemingly not detailing and certainly not cleaning.

The campervan came with three bundles of bedding. Two pillows, a sheet, a blanket and a towel tied together with a length of twine.

'And let me guess.' Luke interrupts. 'The twine was imbued with the lost two hours.'

I did not say that, Saperavi continues, now if you'll let me italicise.

Part of the highway was closed. The alternate route followed the river and crossed single lane bridges. Laconic geysers plumed steam amongst rabbits or attached hot baths to the central lake. Fallen leaves left patterns in the cement. In a sports bar, 'First it Giveth' clashed with that song that goes 'won't you please take me home'. And I wondered: could brewers add colorants to beer and not necessarily tell us?

Pumice floated in the caldera lake.

Luke has better shit to do: 'And this pumice, like, detects artifice?'

I did not say that. Further east, a lookout with vantage over waterfalls was occupied by busker. I played with their dogs whilst a German woman, desperate, used the campervan's toilet. A wine region birthed when colossal storm wrenched river onto new path, leaving dry bed for vines. But they don't use their hills for wine. They build houses on every hill they have but they never plant vines on them.

'You surely brought some wine back. You're allowed two and a bit litres, duty free.'

I continued, without interruption, onto a coastal tourist town. I snaked up roads, narrow between houses perched on hillsides, to no avail, last stretch to lookout blocked to campervans. The Sunday market was also disappointing: junk, junk food, plants and foodstuffs I could not bring back home. An art-deco cathedral destined for mothballing due to rising earthquake insurance premiums. A cross, hung above the pulpit, made from 14th century nails.

'A Cross of Nails is hardcore.' Luke confesses. 'In a Christian Metal sort of way. Someone would fork out for that. But I can tell you didn't pack that. What, exactly, are you declaring?'

A knowing, but friendly, smirk that involves leaning forward by 10°: 'I am not declaring that I did pack that. I am declaring that I attached a Gibbering Squealer Tag to my luggage. Perhaps you're familiar that Gibbering Squealers swap contents of checked luggage during the magic of baggage handling. I volunteered the contents of my luggage because they are not mine. And to give you a head start.

Whilst her carry-on is full of fruit.

Luke: 'I'm not  border security. I'm a cleaner.'

*Mandatory footnote.